


Beauty is Suffering

by Syllis



Series: Underpinnings [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Clothing Kink, Come Marking, Corsetry, Crossdressing, Dom/sub Undertones, Fondling, It's always Marcus - Freeform, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Masturbation, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-10 16:56:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20855144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syllis/pseuds/Syllis
Summary: Anxious to please, Marcus braves the terrifying Taarie and Endarie, as they lace him into a̶n̶ ̶i̶n̶s̶t̶r̶u̶m̶e̶n̶t̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶o̶r̶t̶u̶r̶e̶ ̶ perfectly ordinary stays, mind you! I bet he'll really carry on once he gets fitted for shoes.Savos Aren doesn't seem to mind. It looks like he's having a good time..





	1. Chapter 1

“Stop whining.” Taarie wrapped the cord around her hands again and stood poised. “Beauty is suffering. Take hold of the counter. Breathe out, then take a big breath in.”

Her strong hands were merciless on the laces and the hellish garment cinched around Marcus, biting so deep that the edges of his vision went black and sound began to recede. Marcus kept a tight clutch on the counter, wondering if he could still get at his weapons, because-- argh. Had he really left his knives all the way over there? What was he thinking? He was going to die like this, while this elf-lady tailor-- Now Marcus’ hair was falling down into his eyes. Taarie was laughing at him; so her purpose had been to mock Marcus, not smother him. He jerked his head to glare up at her, and his hair came loose, the thick dark waterfall of it falling down over him.

“Oh, my, yes,” said Savos Aren, warmly. “That swan-neck corset will do nicely, won’t it?”

“She’s killing me,” Marcus tried to say. “Do something.” He could only pant the shallowest of breaths, and the only way he could see was to look up through the strands of his fallen-down hair. He was already too warm, and the sheer white linen of the chemise was dampening where the perspiration was trickling down his back.

“Stop being so ridiculously dramatic and stand up,” instructed Taarie. “Give it a few moments to settle and you’ll feel better.” The entrance bell rang, and she went out to the shop-front to answer it.

Savos Aren set the broadsheets aside and came over to Marcus, gently brushing Marcus’ curls out of the way. Savos set his hand just where the metal-reinforced lines of the garment forced the curve of waist, and leaned closer, pitching his voice so that only Marcus could hear: “You will be so beautiful."

“I am beautiful,” Marcus protested, indignant.

The Arch-Mage chuckled deep in his chest and ducked his head to dab up Marcus’ sweat with his tongue. Thank Kyne that the elven ladies hadn’t bothered to have Marcus wrestle himself into a confining undergarment, because-- Savos Aren was drawing up that chemise, out of their way.

“Five minutes?” suggested Savos brightly, just as Taarie came back in, arms heaped with more white linen-and-lace.

“Play games on your own time, because mine is money,” snapped the tailor.

Savos grumbled disappointment and let go of his handful of linen, stepping back out of the way to watch Taarie work.

Taarie shook out the structured petticoat, and flicked it so that it billowed upwards. She lowered it around Marcus’ waist, and tsk’d exasperation: “Deal with that.”

“Oh, I tried,” Savos murmured. “But you wouldn’t give me even the smallest bit of time--”

Taarie hissed.

Cheeks flaming, Marcus guided his erection out of the way just as Taarie’s expert fingers slid by to tweak the waistband flat.

“There now,” Taarie said, better satisfied. “Hold the waistband just there, at your narrowest point.” She got the garment hooked shut. Marcus’ prick wasn’t going to be a problem anymore; it had wilted dead of shame. The sweat was running down Marcus’ thighs now. Was this relentless perspiration normal? Marcus tried to get Taarie’s attention but she wasn’t listening.

“What do you think?” Taarie asked Savos. “A bustle ruffle, just a little one, right there to pad him out? Or is that corset doing a good enough job?”

Savos went to the other end of the room to survey Marcus with a critical eye. “I think it will do. But, if in your opinion we need further supplementation, please remember that whatever-you-choose will probably be getting in my way. So it might not remain in situ very long.”

Taarie huffed something near Marcus’ ear that sounded like “Waste of my efforts,” but spoke up: “It’s your coin, sir.”

“Can we try the dress now?” Marcus wanted to know. “Because it’s really hot in here, and I--”

“Not just yet,” said Taarie, stepping behind him. She pulled the half-bow of his laces and Marcus started to take a breath of relief--

“Stop that!” Taarie said, annoyed. “D’you want to have to start over from the beginning? Stop flailing around and hold that counter!” She began to pull. “Breathe in.” Her hands were worse than vicious this time; they were positively Daedric. “Now breathe out.”

Each little breath was now a squeak. Marcus kept bracing himself, sure that each tiny sip of air would be his last.

“Does he always carry on like this?” Taarie demanded. Her hands re-oriented Marcus: stand up! When Marcus wavered, she smacked him over the rump, just like a stablemaster fixing a girth-strap.

Savos made noises of commiseration--at the tailor!-- and ignored Marcus’ woeful gaze at this betrayal. He went back to the velvet-padded bench to leaf through the fashion broadsheets and swatches again.

“Are we done tightening?” 

Taarie snorted. “Trust me, I can take it down another inch or two. Even with no--” her finger prodded Marcus’ side, all sinew-and-muscle. “Fluff. You can stand it, so stop crying about it.”

Marcus whimpered. Savos did not look up.

Marcus’ supportive underskirt was re-hooked to its new measurement; and several more petticoats were layered into place, foaming with ribbons and lace. A corset-cover was tugged over his head.

“Sister, dear?” Taarie called. “We’re ready to view your creation. Let’s hope it’s more inspiring than the last.”

Inspiring? More like intimidating. “I didn’t really want anything all that exciting,” Marcus worried.

Taarie pinched him on the arm. “Don’t make Endarie angry,” she advised. “She’s terrifying when she’s angry. Here.” She poured a small cup of water and Marcus drank it, thankfully. “Are you all right?”

“Honestly? I feel like I’m gonna die.” Marcus panted. “Too many layers.”

“Ha. Tiny little Breton girls can handle five times more weight than this, but not our fearless relic collector?” Taarie mopped at Marcus’ neck, upper shoulders, and decolletage with a damp cloth, granting much-needed relief.

“Why is he all wet?” Endarie demanded. “It will spot the silk.” A dry cloth was applied this time, briskly taking away all of the coolth. “Get all of that ridiculous hair out of my way.”

Many septims worth of Dunmer ingenuity were gathered up into a messy bun at the top of Marcus’ head. “Don’t think I’m not grateful,” Marcus said to Savos. “But maybe we should have gotten my hair dealt with after the dress was fitted?”

“Next time,” agreed Savos. His dark-red eyes gleamed. Seeing Marcus this way pleased him; and Savos’ pleasure always warmed Marcus all through. Marcus bit the inside of his cheek, to quell any thoughts of arousal. Gods knew what the much-more-severe Endarie would do to his dick. Stop looking at me, he willed Savos Aren, and groaned internally as he saw the Dunmer mage give a subtle tug to his own trousers. This was so not going to work. How was Marcus ever going to get through a formal occasion? Perhaps he ought to have chosen the prick-cage… at least Marcus wasn't wearing all that accoutrement at the moment... thinking about it was not helping...Marcus bit down harder.

The dress was lowered over Marcus and Taarie held the skirt up into place whilst Endarie knelt to swiftly pin up its length.

When she stood up, Endarie winced at the fit. “No, dear sister. Just stand out of my way and I will take care of this.” An audible sniff. “Just like I take care of everything else around here.” When Endarie’s hands went under Marcus’ corset-cover, Marcus knew better than to move or breathe. Endarie had much less mercy than her alleged-sister, so when she was done pulling his laces taut, Marcus couldn't breathe at all, at first. No thoughts of fooling-around this time; Marcus had to spend his next few minutes half-reclining on a fainting couch. Silently, this time, because one needs breath to cry.

Endarie hauled Marcus back upright and held him steady, tucking bits of cloth around and jabbing them into place as Taarie sewed the bodice into place so that they could gauge its fit. Endarie came around, and tweaked at a wrinkle. “There,” Endarie said. “Perfect, if I do say so myself. And my work is perfection, so I should know.”

“I think that shall work out rather nicely,” said Savos Aren. He made a circuit around Marcus and made noises of approval. “I think I’m done looking at colors now, so if we could maybe talk about what to do with the panes of my outer trousers--”

Marcus was rescued from the pins and the confines of the dress. Many layers of petticoats were peeled away.

Marcus made a feeble gesture-- some help?-- but Endarie said: “Do you still wish to feel this way the day of your big event? Wear that garment around for awhile to acclimatize.” She looked over the front of Marcus’ chemise and frowned. “I don’t care what you do to your personal linen, but whatever else you do, don’t get spots all over that corset.”

“We’re just going as far as one of the private apartments at the Skeever,” put in the Arch-Mage. “So throw a robe over him to get through the streets and he can wear it around our rooms for the rest of the day. What do you think of this ash-pink?”

“With you standing next to all that emerald green?” scowled Endarie. “I hardly think so.”

“Oh, well, then,” said Savos, losing interest. “I shall leave the rest of the color choices to your good discretion.” He looked to Marcus. “Shall we go, my dear? I think it will be cooler up in our rooms.” Savos lowered his voice. “I find myself a bit peckish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to [BawdyBean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BawdyBean/pseuds/BawdyBean) for looking this over for me!


	2. Chapter 2

“Over the table,” said the Arch-Mage. 

_Finally_, thought Marcus.

Savos’ hands pressed Marcus down flatter; and then drew the chemise upwards. Marcus sighed at the touch of the cool breeze, and the impending relief, feeling all of his muscles let down. But no. All that happened was that he was amply salved. He pressed backwards against Savos’ hand, making noises seeking more-- ooh, gods, more of those fingers at the very least; please, please, Marcus was dying of the ache behind his balls. But no. Savos took his hand away and smoothed the chemise back down into place. Savos then went to wash his hands, without further explanation. He was humming to himself, pleased.

Marcus felt cheated. 

“Kneel.” 

Marcus did his clumsy best-- the corset pressed down against his hips and upper thighs viciously. He had to spread his thighs much more than he’d expected, and keep one hand on Savos’ leg for balance. He panted shallowly, trying to get his breath back. Already he felt dizzy. His knee slipped just a bit, and he had to recover his balance.

Savos Aren smiled down at him. “All of that pressure over your ribcage must be what’s making your lips and cheeks so delightfully red; it’s almost magickal, really.” Swiftly, the Arch-Mage began to unbutton himself. “I’ve been thinking about this for the past hour.” 

Marcus pressed his face against the Arch-Mage’s trousers. His lips did feel hot, the skin suffused and taut; almost bursting-berry ripe. The gentle abrasion of the fine wool against his fevered lips enflamed Marcus further. He groaned in his throat, and tried to position himself to get at-- “Ow!”

“What’s wrong?” asked Savos.

“It’s the way I’m sitting. This torture device is digging into the base of my prick,” Marcus gritted out, trying to shift the corset. It declined to move. He tugged at the corset, uncomfortably, feeling the chemise bunch up beneath it. The stupid chemise was in his way. Too much cloth. Marcus couldn’t get at himself. He swore and yanked at the loose linen cloth. Nothing happened.

Savos winced. “Stop doing that, you’ll regret it sooner rather than later.” At the resulting language: “Let’s practice being more lady-like before we get out into society, please.” He rocked his hips to nudge Marcus’ cheek with his half-hard dick. “Now.” 

Marcus took him in, licking the salty underside with a flat tongue; when Savos moaned, they both shuddered. One little problem: Marcus couldn’t breathe and not get jabbed by the damned corset and manage both his position and Savos’. Even when Savos’ hand steadied his head, Marcus had to cling to Savos’ thigh, tightly. Marcus’ knee slipped a bit and his other hand grabbed Savos’ hip, hard. Marcus clung like a barnacle, trying to keep himself upright. Savos gave a pained grunt and withdrew.

“This isn’t going to serve, is it?” said Savos.

When Marcus persisted-- this damned garment wasn’t going to defeat him-- Savos pushed a foot against Marcus’ thigh to wedge him loose. Marcus slipped down off his knees to sit down hard on the floor with a despairing little cry. 

Savos said, “Hate to have you lose your balance midway; that could be disastrous. A cushion, do you think? Or--” Savos’s brows came together. “Had enough?”

Marcus shook his head, vehemently.

Being on top of something soft wouldn’t help Marcus’ balance and he would just get it filthy. Ugh, salve had run down to the backs of Marcus’ thighs now. Oh, gods, was he smearing it all over the floor? He couldn’t bend to look. His face was on fire, tears standing in his eyes. He felt too thick and hot everywhere; the pressure of the garment causing his pulse to thud even harder at mouth and groin. 

Savos stood beside him, petting at his hair and stroking the curling wisps up off his damp skin as Marcus panted. “Don’t wanna give up now,” Marcus managed.

Savos had both hands on Marcus’ head now, tilting his face up. “Eyes, my dear. I want to make sure you’re with me.”

A sharp tweak of Marcus’ hair; and Marcus jerked, eyes blinking back open: “Hey!” 

“Better,” noted Savos. “I’ve told you that I am not in the habit of repeating myself. You’re drifting. So I’m thinking we’re done.”

Marcus shook his head vehemently, gaze locked to Savos Aren’s. He took a few more breaths, letting his chest heave upwards, in the one direction he wasn’t constrained. He tugged at the damned garment again and pressed his cheek into the Arch-Mage’s hand. “I’m good,” Marcus said, his breath dampening Savos’ palm: “I asked for this. I want this.”

“Very well.” Savos rubbed at Marcus’ ears; his neck, and held some of the weight of hair off Marcus’s head, letting the cooler air touch his skin. “Do you wish for me to take control? You can just focus on maintaining your balance.”

Marcus nodded.

“Take a few moments,” Savos counseled. His fingertips worked and Marcus shivered. Marcus’ mouth opened and he licked at whatever he could reach to get its taste. Traces of salve and the inn’s soap; the oud-and-amber incense that scented Savos’ linen; the duller taste of his coat; the more complex notes of his wrist. Marcus gasped, wanting more; and Savos took a half-step closer. Still here, Marcus thought, his tongue scraping over the dulled verge of Savos’ freshly manicured thumbnail. He moved to rest his face against Savos’ thigh, breathing in the clean musk of his scent, so intense just now in the rising warmth.

Marcus was a perfect mess, on the floor with his hair streaming everywhere; no one who saw him would think anything but: whore. Savos was still standing there all trim and dapper; his clothes still in perfect order except for where his fly was open and his cock was lolling out. Filthy. Perfect. Marcus moaned and stretched upwards for another taste.

The Arch-Mage stepped away, leaving Marcus bereft. 

But no, Savos was merely undoing the cuffs of his shirt and buttons of his coat. Marcus watched him pull all of the lightweight wool and linen out of the way, then loosen the clasp which held his hair at his nape, pulling it loose. Savos thought better of this. He re-clasped his hair, this time pulling it further off his neck.

“That’s better,” said Savos. “It is a little warm in here, isn’t it?” He came back, nude and bare-footed, to look Marcus over again. “Beautiful,” he said. “Can you stand up?”

“I think I’ll just fall down,” Marcus confessed. “Could you--”

Savos reached to draw Marcus upwards to his feet and stand there with him till Marcus was steady. “Kisses,” Savos murmured, and obediently Marcus raised his face. Savos petted down the back of the corset, his hand lingering where it forced Marcus’ spine to curve outwards, rounding his rump. His fingers squeezed, right at the crease where Marcus’ left thigh met his buttock. Another sucking kiss at Marcus’ lower lip, and Marcus felt like he would burst. Mouth, prick-- everywhere. 

“Please--” Marcus began. Standing up like this had relieved the pressure across the top of his groin and his cock had grown to a hot demanding arc. His fingers found himself through the transluscent linen and squeezed gently. Another pulse; the seeping liquid dampening the gossamer cloth.

“How sturdy did you find that table to be?” queried Savos. “I’ve had an idea. And let’s--” His fingers tugged the half-bow loose, and Marcus gasped, chest expanding another critical half-inch. “There we are,” said Savos, snugging the lace and re-tying it. He stole the opportunity to nuzzle Marcus’ throat and Marcus arched his neck to permit it, happily stroking.

Savos Aren swung himself up onto the marble-topped table, and sat with legs spread and dangling. He hmm’d happily as he took the time to rub a trace of salve over his own prick, working it well up towards its base. “Hands on the table,” Savos directed. “No, both hands. Leave yourself alone for now. Lean forward without bending your waist.” 

Savos hissed, his hips jerked upwards as Marcus’ swollen lips closed over the glistening purple head. Then he recovered himself. “Still with me? How about you take a few good breaths and then we’ll see how much you can tolerate. Here. Hand here. Grab my leg like that again if you want me to stop; it will certainly get--” another little flinch-- “my attention.” 

Marcus wasn’t listening. He’d pulled off to work his way down Savos’ shaft. He was still busily licking, delving deep, trying to get his tongue far up behind Savos’ balls to reach his hole.

Savos cleared his throat in warning.

Marcus groaned exasperation and slapped Savos on the thigh, hard enough to sting. There, see? Understood.

Savos grabbed two handfuls of dark curls and prised Marcus’ head up again. “We shall have to revisit this listening problem of yours later. For now, two things: unless you need to tap out--”

Marcus’s fingers tightened. He growled. That wasn’t going to happen.

“Hm. I wondered if you were still paying attention. Unless and until; this ends when I say it ends. This is not yours; it is mine. Do you understand?” He bracketed Marcus’ legs with his own, neatly preventing Marcus from continuing to rub off against his calf.

Marcus huffed. Savos chose to overlook this mode of answer; his glistening cock didn’t. It twitched up against Marcus’ lips and he recaptured its head, drawing it back in.

“As for the other: this may be a little more than you anticipated.” Savos’ hands tightened.

Heat blazed through Marcus; he could only groan and drool his anticipation, mouth not wanting to be anything but full; his cock throbbed. _Make me choke._

Marcus could feel all ten of the Arch-Mage’s fingertips exerting pressure on his skull. His face was adjusted to just the right angle; and only then was he allowed to slide forward, drawing that still-thickening cock all the way down his throat. The salve made it possible for him to go right down nose-to-base, tasting the musk. He wanted to breathe in; but the constriction around his chest and waist made that impossible. Marcus tried to lever himself back up and--

Fingers like iron held him in place. Marcus’ heart thudded urgently against the merciless restraint caging his ribs, each beat more painful than the last, until Savos allowed him to rise.

“Ah, good,” said Savos, as Marcus gasped like a breaching whale, most of Savo’s slick length escaping his lips. “I was wondering just where it was you were able to draw breath. Now we can get started.”

Oh, this? This is nothing, Marcus thought as his mouth was filled again. He could do this for hours. He tried to go to work with a will, but was once more restrained by those fingers, driving him in the rhythm that Savos wanted. Saliva flooded his mouth and ran out of his lips to ease the way further. Marcus growled again-- triumph-- and began to lick as he went, tongue dragging along the underside of Savos’ prick; laving the vein there; another tugging suckle as he was raised to take another breath. He could feel Savos’ balls tightening, and his own, even though the only sensation he was getting now was the wet caress of the chemise; this was going to be good. Savos’ hand moved to Marcus’ neck just as Marcus laved upwards… and pressed down, just as Marcus tried to take his next breath. Marcus jerked in shock. His own cock pulsed.

“You’re doing well,” Savos murmured. “Breathe on every other stroke, now. Show me you’re with me.”

Obediently, Marcus petted Savos’ thigh. 

This was taking more of his concentration now; Marcus could only breathe every second upstroke. He tried counting in his head, but Savos started to vary the rhythm, disrupting his focus. Still, Savos was resolutely fair; every second breath, until--

Savos stopped letting him raise his head all the way. The tears were rolling out of Marcus’ eyes now to meld saltiness into gulping wet. Marcus’ world shrunk to the pained heaving of his chest and the ever-hotter flush of his own skin. He could hear nothing but the wet slopping as he bobbed and Savos' small noises, punctuated by Marcus’ own useless little sniffs of air, whenever Savos’ hands allowed. Even through closed lids, Marcus’ vision was darkening.

“Eyes,” whispered Savos. 

Marcus instantly glanced up for the approval of that ruby gaze; but his tears washed out his vision and his legs and knees were trembling too hard for him to maintain. Savos released him. Marcus gasped twice, his head coming all the way up off Savos’ cock despite Marcus’ will. Spit and fluids strung between them, as Marcus drew in in great crowing whoops of air, still balanced on his hands and trying to keep himself steady.

“Eyes again.” Savos made a noise in his chest. His hand caught in Marcus’ hair, drawing his chin up further. He thumbed over Marcus’ cheekbone. “I said you would be beautiful,” said the Arch-Mage. “Look at you. There is no one more beautiful.”

Marcus sobbed as his knees began to collapse. Savos kept a grip on his hair and head and just barely kept Marcus’ chin from smacking into the marble table. Savos lowered him downward as far as he could, 

Marcus lay still, heart pounding; chest fluttering; he could not get up. Every time he tried he either got his hair caught under a shoulder or started to fade out again; as helpless on his back as a turtle. 

Savos was kneeling beside him. “Roll to your side so I can get at--” Instant relief as Savos tugged open the half-bow, his hands wrenching at the material, to force it fully open. Marcus’ chest expanded more with each blessed new breath.

“You’re going to have to help,” said Savos, after a few more moments of sitting with Marcus, palm to the broad stripe of exposed skin along Marcus’ spine. “There is absolutely no way I’m going to be able to get you out from under this table. I can’t budge it.” He sounded worried.

Marcus found that he could move a little, and even talk. “Hair’s stuck under my arm. It hasn’t been this big of a pain in the ass since Anvil.”

“There is quite a bit of it to manage,” Savos noted, having cleared his throat at the ‘pain in the ass’ bit. “Something to consider, for next time.” His fingers tugged at it, painfully now, freeing the masses of it. He crawled backwards out of Marcus’ way, and steadied him again. “Sit up a little and I’ll get the corset off you.”

“Thanks,” Marcus sighed, finally free of the damned thing. He tugged at the impediment of his chemise. “Get this too, will you? It’s all wet. And it’s sticking to me.” He stretched luxuriously, feeling his ribs creak and pop and settle back into place.

“Do you want to get up?” Savos asked.

“Nope.” Marcus spread his limbs out across the nice cool floor, listening to his heart slow down. Savos took the clothing out of his way and returned with a cushion, tossing it down next to Marcus with a thump. Savos reclined on it, his own hair falling down over his cheek. His long fingers traced a line down Marcus’ side and where they touched, they burned.

Marcus made a sound and propped up to look. “Oooh,” he said, looking at the angry red welts where the steel of the corset bones had rubbed at him even through the dense heavy-weave coutil. 

“It happens,” said the Arch-Mage without blame, all matter-of-fact. “I did tell you not to pull on it. Want those marks healed?”

“Ehh.” Marcus declined, dropping back down. It wasn’t worth the bother. A second later his eyes fluttered back open. “Wait. How do you know this?”

“Hm? Oh, bitter experience,” Savos said, with a wicked smile. “Wait till you see what it does to your sides when you dance.” He traced long paths along Marcus’ belly now, to soothe, running over the unfamiliar hairlessness and the barest rasp of stubble just beginning to defeat Ksvana’s hard work. “Want to nap here, or are you cooled down enough to move to the bed?”

Marcus groaned. “Noooo. I’m a filthy mess. I’ve made the floor all disgusting.”

“What nonsense,” murmured Savos. “Look at me. You’re the most beautiful young person I’ve ever seen in my life, and I’ve been places, mind. Messes, pah. We can afford to get messes cleaned up. I want to take you up there so my elbows don’t hurt when I drown in your kisses.” He continued to stroke. “How are you feeling?”

“Kind of out of it.” Marcus was reasonably certain he had legs here somewhere, but so far they were refusing to cooperate. “I still want you to fuck me though. I’m dying for it.”

“Mhmmm.” Savos’ hand moved again, and Marcus made a hopeful noise. Those burgundy eyes had narrowed. “Roll over,” Savos said. “I wanted to talk to you for a moment about this little issue of yours. Not listening. And your language. Unless--” that wasn’t a smile, and Marcus caught his breath. “Unless you’d rather sleep just now,” said the Arch-Mage.

“What?! No.” With effort, Marcus pushed himself up and over, arching his back to neatly present his buttocks to Savos. He spread his thighs, flaunting himself; ready.

Fire blazed across his rump as the Arch-Mage’s hand cracked down twice. It stung more than it should have; Marcus yelped surprise and alarm. Savos stopped. 

“Lovely. I wish you could see the handprints.” He leaned down to kiss where he had struck, and nuzzled. “Sorry,” he breathed across Marcus’ inflamed skin. “It’s always worse when you’re all wet, isn’t it?” A little nibble. “Can we please try--” Another nibble. “From now on, mind. To use language a little more appropriate to our milieu?” Savos sat up to kiss the small of Marcus’ back and began to lick his way down his spine, murmuring approval all the way. “Practice a little, why don’t you?” 

Marcus whimpered.

“Oh, come on now. Don’t you remember all those passages I had you read out of that atrocious romance novel I got from Ancano?”

“I can’t-- I can’t; I need…” Marcus groaned, loudly. 

“You need what?” 

“Fuck. I need to look in that godsdamn book again,” confessed Marcus. “Sorry! Ah! I can’t remember--” he gasped. “Hnnnggh… gods! Get on with it. I’m just gonna die.”

The Arch-Mage kneaded small circles with his fingertip. “Not terrible for a start. We’ll review,” he promised, pressing Marcus’ buttocks open even further. His tongue began to get involved; flicking as he pressed his finger through the tight ring. Marcus jerked upwards with both hips and head; when he did so, Savos slipped his other arm beneath Marcus to take him in hand, giving Marcus’ aching cock something to fuck into while that maddening finger worked.

“There,” said Savos, content. His breath puffed against Marcus’ tenderest skin. “Seek your own pleasure, love.” His wet tongue went back to scrubbing as Marcus gasped and grunted and worked, till the clenching spasms rolling up his thighs finally broke in one great burst. Savos’ finger kept working slower and slower as the pleasure faded, until it finally stopped. 

At another soft grunt from Marcus, Savos gently tugged himself loose and they lay like that for a time, Savos resting his cheek on the small of Marcus’ back, the floss of his loose dark hair caressing Marcus’ side.

“Pretty hard, mm? You did an excellent job not screaming,” Savos noted. “We need to practice being quieter. Does your head hurt?”

“Mhm-mhm,” Marcus denied. “I kind of want to get up now, though. Think I’m lying in a puddle.”

Savos kissed his side and sat up, his hand forestalling Marcus for the moment. “Mind staying just like this for a bit? You make such a sensual picture all sprawled out like that, I just want to--”

Marcus smiled into his own arms. “Do it,” he invited, arching his back a bit more as he listened to the slapping of Savos Aren’s rough hurried strokes; until the Dunmer mage gasped, splattering heat all over Marcus’ inner thighs; his buttocks; the floor.

Savos stayed on his knees, gasping; as Marcus looked back inquiringly over his shoulder. “There some old elf-lady word for all that?” he wanted to know. “Because damn, that’s a mess, we are going to have to get them to scrub the floor; they--”

“Rain of pearls,” translated the Arch-Mage, who was still panting a little. “Bed now, please.” 

A couple of moments later “Do you think the tailor ladies have this much fun with these corsets?” Marcus murmured. Savos, tucked beneath Marcus’ outflung arm, was already asleep. “Huh. Well, they probably wear corsets every day,” Marcus reflected. “So I doubt it.”

\--

Endarie’s amber eyes gleamed malice: _"Crawl_.”


End file.
